I Had To Find You (Tell You I Need You)
by Broken-Devil
Summary: Life is something we all have to go through; but, for some reason, we all go through different things just to end up at the same ending. Is there even a point to it? A story of six adults, battling the world one day at a time.
1. Chapter 1

Title: I Had To Find You (Tell You I Need You)

Summary: Life is something we all have to go through; but, for some reason, we all go through different things just to end up at the same ending. Is there even a point to it? A story of six adults, battling the world one day at a time.

Notes:

Glee gives us this image that it's super easy to become successful once you leave High School; but we all know it's not. That the only thing you worry about is relationships and record singles. That all you have to do is sing and everything is better.

This is my story of the interwoven lives of six of the characters and how harsh and beautiful real life can actually be. It's not all angst and heartbreak and 'does s/he love me?' I want this to be more like the lives we live, you live. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it.

Also, don't worry, I'll try not to shift perspective too much; this is mainly a Santana(/Brittany) story but I just wanted to let you know who the main players are and how they interact.

**Chapter One.**

_**Santana Lopez.**_

"Right, and what do I get out of this if I do it for you?" She was tried, her feet hurt already from her heels – she was pretty certain she had a blister on her heel - and it was only seven o'clock in the morning.

She wasn't quite sure what her cousin was getting from phoning her at this hour, asking stupid questions about stupid people, but she was pretty sure she was going to rip him a new one.

It was far too early to be having this conversation without coffee and she can't help but thank the Lord above that there were only two people queuing in front of her, rather than the usual, headache inducing crush.

"_Fuck if I know. The satisfaction of a job well done? Santana, come on! She needs somewhere to stay to get on her feet and this job is totally great for her, you know? She's had it real hard these past few months."_

She didn't know which was worse. The fact he was begging her to take in some annoying ex of his, or the fact he'd already packed the girls bags and booked her a flight.

She smiles at the familiar face behind the counter and nods when he points to her usual coffee order, blushing to himself as he sets it up for her.

"_And face it, Lopez; prices in Burbank are not as within your grasp as you first thought and daddy's little trust fund will only stretch so far. She'll help out with rent and you don't even need to see her. Do a bro a solid?" _

"Noah, firstly, you're twenty-seven stop saying 'do a bro a solid' and secondly, you can't just dump some girl on me when it suits you. I have a life. Why didn't you discuss this with me first?"

"_What life?" _There was a pause. _"Seriously, did you finally get a life? Why didn't you tell me so?"_

"That's what you took from what I just said?" Santana rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath before placing her phone on the counter, ignoring the other side of the conversation. She takes out her purse and hands over her money, sharing a smile with the girl behind the till, both of them amused at the sound of her cousin still talking to himself.

She carries her things over to the condiment bar and continues to ignore the oaf as she dumps in two – no three, it's early – sweeteners. She takes a sip and sighs, finally feeling good.

Then she remembers Noah's still on the phone.

"_-super tidy, like anal-retentive. She just nee –"_

How – how is he still talking?!

"Enough. What about her parents? Like, you know - her family? Isn't there some woman out there, with gross stretch marks and maternal yearning that stems from her vagina that can help her out?"

"_Not really. The one's she lives with are off doing some cruise with Cher, or someone. And her mother, well – she's out of the picture. Honestly, she needs to get out of Scottsdale and you know how that is, you practically booked tickets out of Ohio the second you graduated Kent State. It'll just be for a few months, San, just until she's ready."_

"Don't call me, San. I hate that," she scowls.

"_You call me Noah and I hate that."_

"I call you that because it's your given name, you ass. You might be known as Puck to your little friends, but not to me," She strides out of the coffee shop, trying to avoid bumping into the morning masses.

"_Puck is legendary. He'll live on through the ages." _She could practically hear his grin. _"Puck will be immortalised forever. High school was great, wasn't it?"_

"Yeah, sure, maybe for you."

"_Hey, don't hate on me because some punk outed you. And it's not like you didn't think it was funny when I came up there and punched that fucker."_

"Thanks for bringing that up, asshole."

"_You're welcome. And anyway, thinking about it, I made the rest of your senior life easier by doing that. People worshipped you and I know for a fact you got so much pussy when you went to college. So really, you owe me big time."_

"You're vile," Santana she frowns again and moves around a woman trying to talk to her screaming toddler. "I'm assuming this is you cashing in on me owing you?"

"_Yep."_

"Nine years too late."

"_Who said there was a time limit?"_

"Me."

"_But you owe me, Santana. I make the rules."_

"Dear God, whatever! I'm twenty-five and I'm still having these arguments with you. Will this be some permanent thing?"

"_No, no! She doesn't even want to live with you San," _He ignores the growl which just irritates her further. _"But it's hard, you know? She has no money, except from what she'll earn at this job. Her parents aren't exactly flush. She just needs to have a base for a few weeks, a month tops."_

"And she's not some crazy nut-job, right?"

"_She's...different, I'll be honest. But her heart is in the right place. And hey! She'll be totally fine with you being gay, she has two dads." _

"What does that have to do with anything? You...You're an idiot. I think it might be correlated to the lack of hair on that thick skull of yours, to be honest. Are you sure a strong breeze doesn't whistle through the follicles and tickle the blob of grey mass sitting there?"

"_You're funny. Really, I'mma call an ambulance because my sides just split."_

"Be careful, you need good insurance for that." It may be narcissistic but she smiles at herself over the rim of her cup. "But hey, listen, I have to go to work," She hurries across the road and looks into to the parking lot. Her bosses car isn't there yet. "When is she coming?"

"_Like, Sunday? I think her flight lands at half one, maybe two? I don't know."_

"That's two days away, you dick. How do you not know?"

"_Because I'm Puck,"_

Like that explains everything, Santana growls to herself.

She lets herself into the main lobby and swipes her card through the turnstile, making sure to avoid eye contact with the busty brunette who works the reception desk. She was stunning to look at, honestly model worthy, and she and Santana had so, so many things in common (Amy Winehouse, tequila, fantastic oral technique) – but she was a total creeper.

One date and the psycho had practically moved in.

It didn't help either that Santana had no idea they worked together when they met on a night out. She tried to keep personal and professional separate.

As in nobody at work knew she was gay.

She debates using the elevator, Noah was still squawking in her ear, but she knows if the signal went he would just call back and knowing her luck it'd be in a meeting, or something.

She rolls her eyes, easily the fifth time that morning, and begins to make her way up the stairs to the third floor.

"_Just get Quinn to help you!" _He shouts down the phone, like he'd figured it all out._ "She can pick her up and then you can meet her later. It'll probably set a better first impression that way. Quinn's much nicer than you. I'll even send gas money."_

"You can't give me forty-eight hours notice that someone is coming to live with me and just expect me to have everything sorted. What if Quinn is busy? What about the paperwork? God, Noah, why do I let you talk me into these things?"

"_Because we're family?"_

"You're adopted."

She stopped.

Fuck.

What a stupid, stupid comment to make. A minute went by and she winces at the sound of Noah shuffling around. She could picture him now, the sides of his mouth downturned as he clenches his jaw. His Doc Martin's scuffing the floor of the garage he owned.

Sometimes, Santana wishes she could slap herself.

Well she can.

But, yeah; that's not going to happen.

"Hey, Noah, you know I was joking right?"

"_Yeah."_

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I was just overwhelmed with this entire thing. It was a joke. You know you're family to me, right? You're mean so much more to me than some of my actual, blood relatives."

"_Yeah, I know." _She heard him sniff and clear his throat."_I get it."_

"Look, this is such a good thing you're doing. Finding this girl a job, getting her somewhere to stay, you're a good guy."

"_So she can really stay with you?"_

Santana's pretty sure this is emotional blackmail and she can sue.

"Yeah. Whatever, yeah she can. Just for a few months though. Make sure she knows."

"_I will. Thank you."_

"Yeah, yeah, I have to go though, seriously."

"_Alright," _she hears him clear his throat once more and shakes her head at herself. She knows she shouldn't have gone there with the adoption thing. Even now, just over fifteen years later, it still stings. _"For real though Santana. This is awesome of you."_

"Mm. Hey, Noah, what's this girl's name? I mean, if I'm meeting her, I'm gonna have to know how to address her right?"

"_Oh yeah! She's called Rachel. Rachel Berry." _

_**Quinn Fabray and Mike Chang.**_

Quinn can't stop smiling as she presses down on the shutter of her camera. Her legs were either side of her boyfriend's slim hips, feet planted on the mattress, as she takes picture after picture of his stunning features. His defined jaw line, strong shoulders and biceps.

They all look perfect in her viewfinder.

She knows how lucky she is, really she does, but Quinn still finds herself daydreaming of beautiful cities; places where they spoke another language and romance was thick in the air. Where hot days would meld into warm nights, the kind where you can sit on a balcony and drink wine and eat delicate pastries. Where city centres were alive with activity but people didn't shove, or barge, or glare.

Los Angeles was great; but she wanted more.

But for now, she had Mike, and that was more than perfect.

She drops to her knees gracefully, making sure she doesn't land too hard on Mike's flat stomach. He barely flinches and she tilts her head, before she looks down and moves through the pictures.

They were perfectly imperfect.

Just like them.

Her phone vibrates loudly on the wood table and Quinn throws herself across her boyfriend to grab it. It was still early and Mike had come home around five in the morning after his shift at the bar. He'd only been asleep for the past forty minutes and he was a grouch if he didn't get at least five hours.

His eyelashes flutter and Quinn curses under her breath.

_From S. Lopez.  
I already hate Rachel Berry. And Noah. _

Although she doesn't know who Rachel Berry is, Quinn hates her already for waking her boyfriend and pissing off her best friend. Noah Puckerman though, she still kind of likes.

As a teenage he would always try too hard and Quinn will always remember him going to the Lopez's for Thanksgiving with a Mohawk, a Jewish necklace and adamant about being called Puck.

He always made her laugh.

_To S. Lopez.  
Who is Rachel? Why do you hate her? Explain everything quickly, Mike is asleep._

Mike inhales deeply and shifts against the mattress, his eyelids flicking open and brightening when they see Quinn astride him. His licks his dry lips slowly and Quinn watches the delicate way his body adjusts to being awake."You tryin' to start somethin', Q?"

"Mmm," she smiles down at him and bends forward from her hips, letting her body lay softly across his torso. She pecks him lightly on his lips, his chin, his jaw, his lips... "I wasn't, but you know."

He moves to kiss her again, this time with purpose, but Quinn's phone that lies between their close bodies vibrates loudly.

"Quinn, I thought we discussed boundaries in the bedroom?" He grins up at her, and laughs loudly when her face turns from relaxed to confused to indignant.

"This is not a – It's my – Shut up," she laughs, moving off of him and sitting upright next to his still sleepy body. "It's Santana."

"Oh," he waggles his eyebrows. "Now Santana, as I have said before, is someone that I have no problems with joining us."

Quinn clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes in response, although she is still unable to keep the grin off of her face. She looks down at her phone to hide the blush from her cheeks.

Mike wasn't exactly the crudest of men no, that title went to Noah, but he wasn't half as shy as Quinn when it came to their bedroom activities. And it seemed Mike's main goal in life was to make Quinn permanently blush.

_From S. Lopez.  
Sorry Mike. She's Noah's ex! She has some job here in LA and since I'm not eating just so I can pay rent he thought it'd be awesome if she moved in! She lands on Sunday._

Quinn's mouth opens in shock and she lets out a small laugh of sympathy for her friend. Noah, bless him, clearly just wanted the best for both girls but wow – did he mess that one up. She shows Mike the text, who had moved so his head was resting against Quinn's hip and she felt his cringe.

"Is Noah trying to get himself castrated?" He asks, running his hand up the length of Quinn's thigh. "Wait, Santana, our Santana, is just letting this happen?"

"She does need help paying rent," she replies with a shrug, simultaneously tapping out a response. "Kind of sucky of him though, you know. Just dropping someone on her like that."

_To S. Lopez  
Shit! You want to talk? I'm free all day._

"Mmm," he mumbles, the ten hour shift finally creeping up on him. "Hey, we should go out tonight. Me, you and Santana. Make sure she's alright. I'm not working and Sam's at the restaurant 'til seven, so we know the food will be good."

"Yeah, that sounds nice. We'll go later, Sam can join us. I haven't seen him in weeks."

"He probably won't get off in time but we can try. I think I'll go to his place, have a few beers and maybe a round or two of poker. You and Santana come back here; you can make a night of it."

Quinn didn't even attempt to hide her happiness.

He cared, not only about her, but about her friends and he knew how much Santana meant to her.

She shuffles down the bed and cuddles herself into his hard body, letting his strong arms wrap around her.

"Thank you," she kisses his chest. Once, twice – and then pulls away, knowing he needs his sleep.

"For what?"

"Everything. Working all these night shifts to pay our rent. Loving my friends, loving them like family. Being you."

"What can I say?" He smiles into her hair, inhaling her familiar fragrance. "I'm perfect."

_**Brittany Pierce.**_

"So, what? That's it. We're done?"

"It's for the best. You know it's for the best."

"How can you do this? We've been together for three years, Brittany." Artie frowns up at her, his bottom lip wet and trembling.

"Artie..."

"I just – I can't even look at you right now."

Brittany lets out a sob as the front door shuts and her boyfriend, well ex boyfriend now she guesses, leaves. She knew breaking up with him while they were at his parents for the weekend was mean of her, but her head was pounding with all the _"So when will I be hearing wedding bells?"_ and _"You'd make wonderful parents," _from his mother.

And it was so, so wrong of her to nod along, holding his hand and smiling at all of his relatives. Lying like she had every intention of marrying him and having his children. Her heart wasn't in it, just like it wasn't in it five months ago and even though she tried and tried it didn't get any better.

She'd fallen out of love.

And they both knew it.

Of course Artie knew it. They'd stopped doing all the nice things they used to. They'd stopped going on dates to the cinema, stopped cuddling in front of the fire and it had been almost a month since they'd had sex.

He had to know.

She runs a hand through her hair and turns to walk to her ex's room, ready to collect her things, gasping when she finds Gerry, Artie's father, stood in her way.

"You know, I thought you were better than that Brittany," he sounds sad, like he was the one she'd broken up with. "You seemed lovely."

"I am lovely, Mr. Abrams, I promise. But I couldn't keep lying to him," her bottom lip begins to quiver, as was the case when she was truly getting upset. "I don't love him like I used to."

"And you couldn't have picked a better time?" He growls, shaking his head at her. "He's been through a hell of a lot and it's only just getting better."

"I know," Brittany replies, panicking at Gerry's sudden hostility. "I've been there this whole time, maybe not always as his girlfriend, but I've always been his friend! I've been through it all with him."

"Then you know how hard it's been for him."

"I do, sir. I do. And I get it, but just because it's been hard..." She cuts herself off, knowing that what she's about to say sounds awful.

"Go on," he prods. "Say what it is that you really want to say."

"I don't mean for this to sound rude, honestly. I know Artie has been through a lot and he is so, so strong. He's possibly the strongest guy in the whole wide world. But I don't love him like that anymore; I'm not in love with him. It has nothing to do with the accident and nothing to do with him as a person; my heart just doesn't want this anymore. And it's not fair for Artie to live with that and," she takes in a breath. "And it's not fair for me either."

"You're just selfish, you mean? We've all had to make adjustments," Brittany grits her teeth. People always missed the point when she spoke, they always ignored her voice and made her feel stupid. "You broke my son's heart because you don't want to be with him now that he's in a wheelchair."

"What?" Brittany can't help but let her voice become stronger. This was ridiculous. "Are you serious? It's been three years."

"Enough time to regret your decision, right?"

"For what it's worth, Gerry, I fell for Artie _after_ the accident and you know that," she takes a step forward. "You made sure to tell me how unprofessional I was for dating him, so I don't even know where this is coming from. I've been Artie's friend for years and we fell in love after that horrible car crash. But sometimes love doesn't always last and you can't blame the accident for it, that's unfair of you."

"I think it's time you left now,"

"You're not even listening to me."

"Because, like usual, you're not saying anything worthy of hearing." The older man spits, apparently glad to get it off of his chest. "The only good thing to come out of this is that my son will finally find someone on his level. Someone who will love and appreciate him the way he's supposed to be. He was never, ever meant to lower himself to someone as stupid as you."

Unable to hold back her tears, Brittany pushes past Gerry and falls into the bedroom that held too many memories for her right now.

She chokes back a sob and picks up her phone. There's only one person she wants to talk to right now.

"_Um," _She hears him clear his throat and a lot of movement. "_Sorry. Hello?"_

"Mike? Uh, did I wake you?" She checks the clock, begging she hasn't guessed time wrong again. "Mike its Brittany."

"_Hey B,"_ she hears shuffling and a female voice – Quinn – in the background. _"One minute." _There's more noise, bed covers being lifted and a door closing. _"Sorry, we were sleeping in. Long shift last night."_

"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt," she cringes at how sad she sounds.

"_I know you didn't. And I know you didn't call just to tell me hello. What's up, hummingbird?"_

"I've just broke up with Artie," she breaks off into a sob, sad because she's just hurt a nice boy and she sits down on the bed, her head feels heavy and it falls into her free hand. "Mike, I don't know what to do."

"_Oh Jesus," _he sighs and she knew he saw it coming. They've talked about it in the past. _"Are you alright?"_

"I will be I just," she lets out a small hum, something to distract from the tears. "Mike, is there still an opening at the hospital? The one you told me about a few weeks ago?"

"_Yeah, I mean well – I don't know. The sign was still up when I came home this morning. I could check later for you. Why?" _

"You were right. I need to get away from here. I think I'm going to come to LA."

_**Sam Evans**_

"Evans! Two sirloin, one medium rare, kill the other; both on the board. Smythe, I need salad garnish and sweet fries to go with both."

"Yes Chef."

"Where the hell is this order for table four? I've been waiting three minutes too long now Hart, answer me!"

"Coming up on four, Chef."

Sam cringes internally at Joe, and looks up to see his plate come in last once again. He turns back to his station and watches the steak carefully, he knows not to overcook the first but the second has been ordered well done.

"Sebastian, garnish the first plate dude," he calls across. He pulls the steak out of the pan and places it on a hot plate, quickly seasoning it before moving back to the second dish,

"Sure," Sebastian works his magic. "Time on the well done?"

"A minute left..

"Chef, first plate is here, second is on the fly."

"Good, keep it coming boys. Table twelve on the rack," she calls out and Sam watches as a waitress scoops up the desserts that have been freshly made.

This, this is what Sam lives for. He passes the steak to Sebastian who garnishes and sends the dishes to their head chef. She turns to them and gives them a nod of recognition before she heads outside when the maître d shouts for her

He loves his job, loves the people he works with – maybe minus Joe Hart, but he's pretty new so – but most of all, he loves that it pays him enough to ensure he has a roof over his head.

And yeah, maybe it's a shithole. Okay, and yeah, it may have the smallest living area known to man and two sex maniac neighbours that he can hear, literally, at all hours.

And so what if he has the world's strangest roommate, named Brody, who comes and goes at all hours and spends a lot of time in the bathroom speaking to himself in the mirror.

But it's his.

A red headed girl scoots by and flashes him a cute smile, he winks back at her and watches as a blush gives her porcelain skin a pink hue. She giggles and looks away, biting her lip as she begins to make up her own orders.

He chuckles at her enthusiasm, she was new in town and he kind of wants to ask her out.

But she's just too pretty and his heart still hasn't stopped skipping beats around the one girl he can't have.

So instead, he smiles and winks and blushes at her.

"Guppy, you have visitors. Get twenty."

"Chef I'm alright, really –"

"Listen up, Nemo," The woman barks, not even breaking her own focus. "I'm not asking if you're alright, I'm telling you to get out of here. You've been working without a break for the past six hours, and I can't be bothered to get sued again, so either go and get a break or go home."

Sue Sylvester may have been the best chef on the West Coast but she was the scariest lady that Sam has ever met.

But she was easily one of the best human beings on the planet. He knew that he owed everything to her. She'd saved his life.

He was working part-time in an Italian bistro when she found him, barely able to pay rent and eat in the same month. He was lucky, back then, that he had Mike who also was bringing in a pay cheque. But it was barely enough to scrape by some months.

Apparently she knew talent when she saw it and, beneath his boyish features, she told him that he had it.

Two weeks after that, Sam found himself working in her restaurant and earning, for once, a decent pay packet.

"Yes Chef."

"Mann, take over from Evans! Hart, can you please explain why I'm still waiting on this fish?"

He quickly moves over to the washing area and put his apron on his hook, before he cleans off his hands and shoulders his way through the swinging doors. He checks the clock, 18:02, and wonders who would be coming to see him at such a busy hour. Most of his friends knew not to disturb him at work, or face the wrath of Ms. Sylvester.

He smiles when he sees the familiar faces of Santana, Mike and Quinn all standing in the alcove of the restaurant.

Santana has a cute grumpy face on that makes him want to grab her cheeks and make her smile that wonderful smile. It's obvious though, when he looks across at Quinn and Mike, that she has been in this mood for a while.

And he knows better than to prod a sleeping lion.

"Hey," he waves a little and he can't stop his blush when Santana rolls her eyes at his behaviour. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We're waiting to eat, Aquaman. Your fast hands might make great food but the service sucks!" Sam's eyes widen as he notices that Santana's focus is on a poor young girl, whose confidence looks shaken at the woman's glare. It was going to be one of those nights for his friends. "Seriously, I was waited on better the night I was arrested for pole dancing on a street light."

"One, you weren't pole dancing Santana – you attempted to, really badly, and you fell off. Two, you weren't even arrested, you were put in an ambulance, with Matt who just so happens to be a policeman, and given a Popsicle for good behaviour," Quinn shakes her head and ignores the impressive scowl she receives for her efforts. "Just calm it down; we're waiting on Sam anyway."

"Why?"

"So we can go and eat..."

"We're not eating here?"

"Yes, Sam's joining us."

"When?"

"When he finishes, Santana. How long do you have left?"

Sam tries to answer.

"So, wait...We dragged him out, possibly extending his working day because he'll have to make this time up, to say 'hey, let's eat together' when we could have grabbed him as he was leaving?"

"Yes."

"Wow."

"So," Sam claps his hands together and tries to hide his grin. Grumpy Santana was scary, sure, but she was also the cutest little thing ever. She was like a villain in a comic book, whose alter ego was like – a kitten, or something. It was even better when she argued with Quinn, as the other woman remained passive to almost anything Santana threw at her. "I'll finish soon, half seven probably. You guys eat, we can go and see a movie after, or something?"

"I was thinking guys night/girls night, dude," Mike elbows him. "I have some serious craving for poker and that stuff you call beer."

"Corona is just as good as anything you drink."

"It's a girl's drink," Mike jests. "Come on, hurry up and go back so I'm not the only guy around these two. Although..."

"Shut up, Chang."

"Mike, don't piss her off further."

Sam grins.

_**Rachel Berry.**_

Rachel watches as Noah pokes around his plate, a frown deeply mars his forehead and she can't help but smile. He looks like a reluctant four year old who is being made to eat his vegetables before he's allowed a huge chocolate sundae. He knows that he has to, so he can get the prize, but he also really, really does not want to.

"Vegan food isn't for everybody, Noah, I appreciate that," she starts, taking a sip of her own iced tea. "But I assure you, you won't know if you like it until you try it."

"I've tried it. It's gross."

"When?"

"After we fucked that first time," he grumps, jamming his fork through a piece of tofu and he manages to ignore the indignant look Rachel throws his way. "You were asleep and I got the munchies so raided your kitchen. Your roommate was there, she saw me naked and let me tell you – Tina did not look away."

"Do you always have to be so crude, Noah?"

"Yes," he looks up to her and waggles his eyebrows, his smile fading at her unimpressed face. "No?"

Rachel lets herself smile at his antics. Sure, Noah was possibly the last person in the world she should have fallen for. Her fathers had their hearts set on Finn Hudson, quarterback, popular, kind-hearted. He was the captain of their schools Glee Club and absolutely perfect for the Broadway destined Rachel Berry. But, truth was, she couldn't see past his best friend, Noah Puckerman and that was that.

They had lasted an entire two years before it had all gone to pot. Rachel had dreams, big dreams of leaving Arizona and moving to New York – Noah on the other hand, didn't.

"How's the garage doing?" she asks as she adds some extra dressing to her salad.

"Awesome," he answers with a mouthful. "Lauren Zizes is coming in to work for me next week so she'll help out with the workload."

"That's great," she grins, bouncing her in seat a little. She always knew Noah would make it. "Is Lauren the one you wanted?"

"Yeah, she's fantastic," he enthuses. "Well, I mean, 'Cedes is worried that I'm gonna stray, or something."

"And you think that is unwarranted?" She asks with an eyebrow lift. "Noah, you're not exactly monogamous."

"I don't know what that means but my penis works fine."

"It means – Nevermind," she laughs to herself at his pout. "So are you giving her reason to doubt you?"

"No, no," he shakes his head and leans back in the chair; she can feel his ankles cross underneath the table. "Zizes is not interested me in the slightest. She has a boyfriend anyway, some pro wrestler, and even if she didn't, she's more likely to bench press me than blow me."

"You're so charming, Noah," Rachel smiles for real this time, completely charmed by her ex. "Um, Noah, I just want to say –"

"Don't thank me again, Princess, really," he holds his hands up and winces.

"But I just want to say –"

"Say anything and I'll shove that tofu down your pretty little throat," he threatens playfully. "Rachel, you're better than writing about used car parts. Scottsdale has had its Rachel Berry experience now. You deserve big things and if those things include Terri Schuster and that magazine she owns then I'll do anything to make sure you get it. Understand?"

"Yeah," she blushes and looks down. "Please tell Mercedes thank you for getting the interview with her."

"I will," he nods and pushes his plate away, he watches her as she worries her bottom lip. "C'mon Berry, what's up?"

"I'm just worried about this meeting with your cousin," she admits quietly. "I've never been out of Arizona and all of a sudden I'm moving to California to live with her. A girl who I have never met. And I have judged her character by your stories and, well Noah, I just don't know if we'll be compatible."

"Compatible?"

"Noah."

He chuckles at that and leans his forearms on the table, running a hand along his head and pursing his lips together at the woman in front of his. He reaches across and takes her delicate hand in his larger one and runs a thumb along her knuckles.

"Rach, you'll be fine. Just tone down the morning vocal warm ups and try not to tell Santana what to do," he tugs on her hand to make her look up. "Santana is...difficult. She kind of had it hard before she moved so, y'know, don't take what she says too personally."

"Are you sure she's alright with doing this?"

"No," he shakes his head vigorously. "She's always lived alone out there; even Quinn had enough of her after college. But she's super awesome really, she just doesn't like to tell anyone."

"Why?"

"I don't know. She once told me why and it involved something about a lizard and being a bitch and, to be honest, I was stoned so I didn't really follow."

"Oh Noah," she sighs. "I'm going to miss you. You really are one of my best friends in the entire world."

"Course I am," he smarms. "It's because of my giant cock, but that's fine because I only really liked you at first because your legs ar –"

She lunges across the table with a laugh and clips the back of his ear.

_**Phoenix Airport 12:37pm.**_

Rachel looks up at the flight times once more before she turns back to look at Noah and Mercedes both smiling nicely at her. She kind of wishes her father's could be here but sometimes the timing works out wrong, she makes a note to call them when she lands.

"I can't believe out of the three of us it's your skinny ass that's moving across to Los Angeles," Mercedes whines. "I was supposed to do that."

"Nobody's stopping you babe," Noah grins from her side, puckering his lips at her when she swats at his bicep.

"You want to get rid of me, is that it?"

"What? Babe, no," Rachel laughs at Noah's attempts to pull Mercedes back. She ignores him and instead wraps Rachel in a warm embrace.

"You make sure you call as soon as you land, alright?" She tells her as she holds on to Rachel's shoulders. "Literally, as soon as those wheels hit tarmac."

"I will," Rachel nods. "Oh, I think I'm going to cry."

"Don't," Noah warns. "There are no academy awards for Most Dramatic –" He cuts off when Mercedes sends him a look. "I mean, you'll make me blub if you do, my little Jewish Princess."

"Noah," Rachel sighs out, pulling him towards her and Mercedes as she hugs them both.

"I can't believe I'm not going to hear your voice for more than a few hours," Mercedes giggles. "What am I going to do with myself?"

"I prepared for that," Rachel pulls back and misses the exchange between Noah and Mercedes. "I've left you both a copy of me singing a few of my favourite Broadway songs. There are a lot of Barbra Streisand covers but I'm hoping you'll enjoy them."

"Why would I want that?"

"Puckerman," Mercedes grits her teeth into a smile. "That sounds good."

"Maybe someone will find me in LA and you two will have my first official album," Rachel beams. "Imagine the price tag on those in a few years."

"Monumental I'm sure," Mercedes nods.

"Oh," Rachel spins on the spot and frets. "I have to leave. My flight is at one."

"Rachel," the young man grabs her arm. "You'll do amazing, alright. Santana will look after you every step of the way."

_**Bob Hope Airport 13:20pm.**_

"What time does her flight get in?"

"Half past."

"Are you excited to meet her?"

Santana turns to look at both Mike and Quinn, a frown creasing her forehead and the side of her lips raised.

"No Egg Fried, I'm not excited."

"Santana," Quinn warns, she looks up and lets Santana know she's only got a few more insults before she's in for it.

"The only reason I'm doing this is for Noah," she grumps out. "Mike, why are you even here?"

"I'm driving."

"Quinn can drive."

"Yeah, but I'm picking up a friend too. She'll be here in the next hour and a half and it made more sense to do one trip."

"What friend?"

"My friend."

"What's his name?" Santana asks, turning on her heel to look back at the arrivals board. Fucking plane was taking forever. "You don't have any other friends."

"Her name," Mike replies patiently, "is Brittany. I knew her in High School. She's crashing on our sofa."

"God, what is it with these people and their utter lack of disregard for other lives?" Santana grumps out as she crosses her arms.

"We're helping her out like you're helping Rachel," Quinn explains. "Besides, as a group, we're kind of incestuous. We need outside friends. I know far too much about all of you to be considered healthy."

"Whatever," Santana sighs, "This is only for a few months and then I can get back to normal. And if this woman thinks I'm some super nice, helpful friend who is going to help her out all the time, she has another thing coming."

Quinn and Mike smile at one another as they watch Santana locate the correct flight and hurry away; ready to help Rachel when she gets off the plane, despite her previous rant.

It was going to be a long few months.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Quinn watches as the young woman drags two large suitcases from the luggage rack. She tilts her head to the side, brows coming together in the middle as – Rachel, is that her name? – attempts to lift them up and onto the trolley to help take to the car.

She's only tiny, probably the same height as Santana but she seems to be fiercely determined to be independent. Which, you know, would be admirable if the woman wasn't so damn annoying.

She knows that Santana is standing to her left, quite possibly with the same expression on her face as they both watch Mike easily help her and wheel the trolley towards them.

"Thank you so much Michael," Rachel breathes out, a grin on her face that pretty much splits her face in two.

"Actually, it's just Mike," he replies softly, but jerks back a little as Rachel opens her arms and ignores him, tells Santana she's going to hug her - Quinn can't help but laugh – and then proceeds to do just that.

"Woah," Quinn continues to laugh, her body shaking as Santana bats at the shorter woman with both of her hands. "Woah, for real, there's a no touching rule in airports. Seriously, I'm not above shouting 'terrorist' and letting the guys shoot at you."

"Don't be silly," Rachel pulls away, the smile on her face dimming at the sight of Santana's scowl. "I just want you to understand how much I appreciate you doing this for me. I wasn't sure that you would agree. Noah speaks highly of you, I assure you, but in all honesty you don't always come across too fantastic. But you actually are. I mean letting a complete stranger stay with you. I'll be sure that you personally, Santana, get a thank you note in the first addition of my autobiography. Rachel: The Brightest Star."

She clasps her hands to her chest and looks at the three strangers in front of her. Mike, it seems, is the most taken with Rachel but Quinn and Santana seem to be frozen.

"Did she just insult me?" Santana slowly comes back to life, like a robot rebooting as she suddenly gets the use of her limbs. She whips around to look at Quinn and her eyes narrow in absolute confusion. "I'm sure in that speech she just insulted me."

"I," Quinn purses her lips and shakes her head, shrugging at Santana. "I don't think so."

"Of course I didn't insult you, Santana," Rachel enthuses. "You're my lifesaver."

"I'm your not-too-fantastic lifesaver."

"So, can I ask who you are?" The shorter woman looks across to the couple, who are highly amused at Santana's incredulous face. "Will I be seeing a lot of you both?"

"I'm Quinn," she answers tactfully, still unsure about Rachel as a person. She seems...a lot of work. "And this is my boyfriend _Mike._"

"It's a pleasure," Rachel grabs firstly at Quinn's hand and then Mikes. "Oh, this is starting out to be a lovely experience. I'm sure we're all going to get along great."

"Yeah," Mike winces at the squeeze to his hand. "Great."

* * *

"Excuse me," Brittany calls across to a young man in a blue shirt. "Excuse me, can you help me?"

"Uh," the man looks up from where he is tapping on his Macbook. "I don't work –"

"Oh thank you," she smiles and pulls out a map. The man looks down, double checking when it appears to have been done in crayon. "I'm lost. I'm supposed to meet my friend, Mike Chang, at the arrivals at two-forty five but it's almost three now and I can't find where I am."

"You're serious?"

"Super," she intones, making sure to put on a serious face. "He's supposed to be picking me up. I've just flown in from San Jose."

"Lady," he looks at Brittany again, trying to judge her. "I don't know how you've done it, but this is the departures lounge."

* * *

Santana leans her head against the pane of glass as she grinds her teeth together. She's been in the presence of Rachel Berry for approximately two and a half hours and she's pretty sure that killing somebody because they talk too much is justifiable.

She's incessant.

"-but I was three when that happened," Rachel continues, oblivious to the boredom setting in between the two best friends. "Anyway, that's why I became a vegan."

"At three?" Quinn asks, utterly in disbelief. "You became a vegan _at three years old _because you saw a truck of lambs go past your house?"

"Yes."

"_At three."_

"I don't know why my age is a matter of concern," she responds, flicking a piece of hair over her shoulder.

"Maybe because the rest of us at that age were more bothered about how much ice cream we were going to get for dessert than caring about where it came from," Santana grits out, rolling her forehead against the cool glass. "Who raised you? Paul McCartney?"

"No," Rachel shrinks into herself a little and Santana would feel bad, but the woman voice caused her to have a headache behind her right eye and it was fucking annoying.

"Hey," Mike peeks his head into the door and smiles at them. "I've found Brittany."

* * *

The freeway is pretty clear on the way back, which is perfect, because Santana is pretty sure her neck is cramping up from the amount of people and luggage in the car. The fact she's taken a day off for this irritates her further, because she was only supposed to meet one runaway female today; but instead she's stuck in the backseat listening to the both of them.

"But yeah," Brittany continues, charming everyone. "I felt really bad, but when you're not in love you're just not in love. Besides, Fremont is great and all; but I totally needed a change."

"So you moved three hundred miles down the coast?"

"Yeah," Brittany smiles at Santana, disarming her a little and causing her to blink at the brightness of her smile. "Plus, I'm near Mike and I love Mike so..."

Quinn spins around in her chair, casting a look to the woman in the back of the car and narrows her eyes. Santana chuckles quietly at how quickly Quinn can make herself look like a serial killer.

"I should hope not," Quinn tells her.

"Oh, not like sex-love," Brittany reassures her. "Like brother-love. And that is totally different to sex-love. Unless, like, you're one of those people on Jerry Springer; but I've never been on there so I'm not."

Quinn stares at Brittany who beams back.

"Right."

* * *

"So, I'll drop you and Rachel off first," Mike explains. "Then we can all meet for dinner tonight. Sam can come; he worked the delivery this morning so he said he'd meet us there after he's slept some."

"Who's Sam?" Rachel asks as she looks out of the window, taking in the new atmosphere and surroundings. "Are we friends with him too?"

"_We're _friends with him, hobbit. As in Quinn, Mike and I," Santana growls quietly from her place. "You've never even met him."

"Oh I know," Rachel looks across at Santana, eyes wide and apologetic. "I just meant –"

"I know what you meant."

"I didn't," Brittany looks to Rachel. "I'd like to make friends too. I only know Mike really, so we're totally in the same boat. Don't worry."

"You_ both_ have friends here B," Mike smiles at them through the mirror, making sure to catch Rachel's nervous eyes. "Ignore Santana. She hasn't had her fourth cup of coffee."

"Caffeine is really bad for you," Rachel tells her, leaning across Brittany to focus on Santana. "Can I suggest a nice green tea if you're feeling under stress or pressure."

"No, you can't."

Santana can't help but smile at her own comment.

Especially when Brittany chuckles quietly to herself and nudges at her gently.

* * *

Santana collapses on the sofa after helping Rachel lug two suitcases and a large carry-on up the flight of stairs. For the amount she pays out a month for this place she's unsure as to why the elevator only works once every three months.

She made a mental note to write a strongly worded letter to him tomorrow.

Just like she was going to do last month.

That'll show him.

"Oh, this is lovely," Rachel smiles, spreading her arms and spinning on the spot. Santana watches her as she flutters over to the window and takes in the view. It's not much, some buildings and a busy street below; but it's LA – apart from nice weather, there isn't much else but buildings and traffic.

"Yeah," Santana replies, forcing herself into a sitting position. "Hey, so, the landlord needs you to sign some tenancy agreements. It's just about monthly rent and a deposit, the usual. You want to do that before we go?"

"Sure," Santana watches as Rachel becomes a little more flustered. "Wow."

"What?"

"I've never had my own place before."

"You still don't," she answers, pushing herself up and walking over to Rachel. "I've asked you to be put on a month to month lease, like me. Is that alright?"

"I don't know what that is but thank you."

"Make sure you pay eight thirty every month and we're good."

"Gosh, that's a lot of money," Rachel frets, looking up at Santana. "How much does he want for a deposit?"

"Three hundred plus one months' rent," Santana replies looking concerned. "You can pay it, right? I mean, you get the three hundred back when you move out."

"No, yeah," Rachel shakes her head and walks to the sofa. "I only have fifteen hundred in my account." She sits on the black material and looks up at Santana, tears forming in her eyes. "I haven't even started my job yet."

"Well," Santana worries her bottom lip, making sure to write down possible ways to kill Noah when they meet for his birthday. "How do you get paid?"

"Into my bank," Santana rolls her eyes and Rachel catches up quickly. "Oh, um," she fumbles through her handbag and pulls out a manila envelope.

She opens the paperwork for her new job at "_Up 'n' Coming" _a magazine that features heavily on underground music and acts in the clubs and bars of LA. Santana watches casually, leaning against a counter and praying to high heaven that Rachel has a decent wage and a sensible head on her shoulders.

"Oh, it's a monthly contract," Rachel sighs out. "I can pay rent."

"Yay," Santana croaks out sarcastically. "Look, if it comes to it I'll help you out for your first month and you can pay me back when you're steady."

"Really, you would do that?"

"If it comes to it," Santana warns. "I'm not flinging my money around like some celebrity in a strip club."

"No I know," Rachel scrambles.

"Unpack your things," she unfolds her arms and pushes off the counter she was leaning on with her hip. "I'll put on a pot of coffee and phone the landlord to come over with the stuff. We're meeting everyone at seven so have something ready to wear for then, alright?"

"I'm sorry Santana but I don't drink coffee. It damages my vocal chords"

"So no milk cause you're vegan, right?"

"I don't drink coffee though," Rachel tries to protest.

"Sugar?"

Rachel looks at the retreating figure of Santana and licks her lips. Noah was right, she was certainly something else but she was Rachel Berry and if she could cope with Kitty Wilde at high school, she could cope with Santana Lopez now.

"Just one please."

* * *

"Uh, Quinn," there's a tentative knock on the ajar door and Quinn turns her head to the sound. Her eyes soften as she takes in the tired woman in the doorway and tilts her head, indicating for her to come in.

"Yeah," she turns on her seat to look at Brittany better.

She can't help but judge her; it was ingrained from high school. Her eyes float over the long, lean body of her current lodger. She was clearly athletic, but it seemed she was oblivious to how pretty she was. Or, maybe she knew. Because it seemed that Brittany preferred to dress how she felt, rather than what was appropriate; with her knee length socks, shorts and university sweatshirt.

"I was just wondering if you had any mascara or eyeliner that I could borrow?" Quinn watches as she fiddles with her hands, clearly nervous. "I only remembered to pack my clothes and now I'm thinking about it, I don't have enough."

"Why?"

"I think I only packed enough for like, a week," she mumbles, eyes darting down. "I didn't want to bring all of my things and clog up your apartment."

"Oh," Quinn laughs softly. "Honey, don't worry. Can you have your things shipped up when you're settled?"

"Probably," she shrugs, tentatively she steps closer to the dressing table. "I don't really want to speak to Artie though. Just thinking of him being upset makes me feel like a sad panda."

"A sad panda?"

"Yeah," Brittany agrees. "So I was just wondering if I could borrow some things, maybe? I mean, I'll obviously buy you some stuff to make up for it."

"Sure," Quinn nods and moves to the left. "Come, sit, enjoy all the make-up."

"Thanks," she brightens and sits next to Quinn on the stool. "See, this is why it's great to be bilingual."

"What?"

* * *

Sam hunches his shoulders closer together and rubs his hands vigorously. He was a California boy all the way through and on the odd occasion they had this milder weather, his body seemed to feel it. Santana always clicked her tongue at him and told him to buy some new balls; but it wasn't his fault. Sure, it was probably warmer than everywhere else - (some guy even walked past in shorts) - but that doesn't mean he can't feel the cool breeze from the afternoon shower that had occurred.

The music from the bar behind him suddenly became louder as a group of three women exit to begin their own night. He smiles and nods at the young brunette who looks his way. He chuckles when she looks back another two times before all the girls huddle together and giggle before, once more, looking back at him.

"Quite the fan club you have there, Evans," Dave nudges him and smirks. Sam turns and looks at the barman, shaking his head at the women. "The brunette seemed to take an interest anyway."

"Yeah," he agrees nicely. "But how many drinks did you serve them before you came out for that." He nods at the cigarette in the large man's hand.

"Don't judge me," he laughs, taking a quick drag. "And, you know what, I served them a lot. They were probably laughing at your hair."

Sam instantly panics and looks at his reflection in the window. He wanted to make a good impression on the two new women tonight. He rolls his eyes when Dave lets out another loud laugh.

"Jesus," Dave shakes his head. "I'm supposed to be the gay one out of the two of us."

Sam continues to check his hair, smoothing it over at the front to make it a little more presentable. He catches Dave's eyes in the reflection and smirks at him.

"I'd make a better gay than you," he challenges, raising his eyebrow.

"Sure," Dave nods. "I've already taken one guy from you; I'll take any more that you look at."

"He liked me not the other way around," Sam argues with an eye roll. "Besides, I'm not gay. I couldn't break his heart like that."

Dave laughs at his joke and stubs his cigarette out on the wall before leaning against it, relaxing a little from his double shift.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Dave tells him, looking out into the street.

Sam turns to him, completely ready to listen to his friend. For all of his mouthy attitude and his angry expressions, Dave Karofsky was an alright guy. He had it hard, from what Sam could gather, in high school and made one too many stupid decisions but he was turning his life around.

At least, Sam figures he is.

"That Kurt Hummel," he shrugs and looks at Sam, his expression a little wounded. "He probably would have broken your heart before you broke his."

"What do you mean?" He asks, watching a two cabs go past and then pull up to the side. The doors open and Santana and Quinn and another brunette step out of the first one.

"Nevermind," Dave shakes his head again before looking in the direction of the girls. "Hey Lopez, I can see your nipples in that dress."

"Fuck off," Santana shouts back, entirely amused by the man. "The girls need to be let out once in a while."

"Hey who are the new chicks?" Dave asks, pointing at the two new friends of the group. He's used to seeing this particular group of friends, all of them coming into the bar either together or in couples. He's known them all a long time, Sam and Mike the longest. Santana entertains him the most, reminding him a little of himself; but Quinn is pretty scary.

"Dunno. Rachel and Brittany I think," Sam shrugs, waving at Mike as he helps Quinn do something with her bag.

"Hello," Rachel sticks her hand out and Sam looks at it with a smile. Obviously not an L.A native then. "I'm Rachel Berry, I'm sure Santana has told you all about me."

"No," he blinks a few times, taken entirely by her smile. "But I'm sure I'll get to know you."

"I can't wait," she turns and looks at Dave. "Hello, I'm Rachel Berry."

Sam can't quite take his eyes off of her.

* * *

"This is my pussy," Brittany tells Santana, shocking the woman into choking on her drink and looking incredulously to the girl next to her.

"You're joking, right?" Santana holds her hand up, effectively blocking the picture on the phone and furrows her eyebrows.

"No," Brittany shakes her head. "Lord Tubbington is not a punch line, he's a cat."

Santana frowns and carefully takes her hand away from the screen. It's all she can do not to laugh at the large animal on the phone, "What are you feeding him? Other cats?"

"Shush," Brittany smiles and puts her phone down. "He was normal sized when we got him but my sister," she shrugs and licks her lips. "Well, my sister seems to think that the more you feed him, the more you love him. And she really loves Lord Tubbington."

"And you didn't stop this from happening because..?"

"No, I think he looks funny," Brittany giggles and Santana can't help but smile. The woman is completely charming and Santana finds herself quite taken.

"So, what are you doing in LA then?"

"Looking for work," Brittany tells her, looking across at Mike who looks completely overwhelmed by Rachel's story. "Mike has gotten me an interview down at the clinic. It's only twenty hours but I need the money and, you know, it's a job. I could pick up bar work or something if I need too."

"You're a doctor?" She probably shouldn't have said that so disbelieving. She cringes when Brittany clearly picks up her tone and immediately looks uncomfortable. Santana watches as she nervously plays with her cuticles, her lip being taken under by white teeth.

"Uh," Brittany reaches across for her water and brings it to her lips. "Physiotherapist."

"Wow," Santana looks impressed. "That's cool."

"You never would have guessed, huh?"

"You can't guess someone's profession just by looking at them," Santana tells her quietly. "I kind of had you down for a kindergarten teacher, or something. Cause you're so happy and stuff."

Brittany stills looks a little disbelieving but Santana sees the fond look in her eyes and takes that as a win.

"Well, I kind of think you'd be a good lawyer or something."

"Really?" Santana blushes and knits her eyebrows together. "Why's that?"

"You're, uh," Brittany takes another sip of her drink and her eyes dart across to Quinn before moving back to Santana. "You're kind of scary. In a good way though. If I'd done something naughty I'd probably end up admitting everything to you."

Santana's mouth drops open and Brittany smiles crookedly.

* * *

"I'm going to be working for a magazine, writing articles about new talent in the area and hopefully giving them some sort of springboard to propel their career. I hope that during this time, maybe I could perform myself. Obviously I wouldn't self-review, that would far too narcissistic to be taken seriously."

Sam nods along with the woman, encouraging her story despite the eye-rolls from Quinn and the polite ignorance of Mike. The couple clearly tired of the girl's stories and had started a conversation of their own, occasionally interacting with Santana and Brittany.

"So you're a writer?"

"Um, no," Rachel flusters. "I'm a singer. I've been told I have the voice for Broadway, actually. My dream is to make it big in New York."

"Oh," Sam furrows his eyebrows and leans in a little closer to her. "Um, you do know this is Los Angeles, right? Like, we're pretty far away from New York."

"No, I know," Rachel looks down at the table, her fingers smoothing out her dress. "It was an unfortunate path I ended up on. I didn't get into the school of my choice and I had to do something. My boyfriend at the time Noah helped me get a course in Journalism."

"Why didn't you just go to New York?" Sam asks pleasantly. "Thousands do it."

"And thousands don't make it," she replies quietly, so quiet Sam had to lean in a little closer. "I didn't want to move away like that and just fail. NYADA is a school that sees perfect talent and I just didn't have it."

"I'm sure you do," he smiles at her, encouraging her to look up. "I bet you're wonderful."

"And what makes you so sure?" Rachel snaps, regret instantly flashing across her face when she sees the man recoil.

"I just meant –"

"If professional singers can't agree I have a wonderful singing voice then what makes you so certain after knowing me for less than two hours?"

"Woah," Sam backs up, raising his hands in defence. "Sorry. I just wanted to know a little more about you."

"Why?" Rachel looks up at him, an apology in her eyes but unable to fall from her lips. Noah had always told her to not apologise for saying things you really feel.

"Because I like you," he replies nicely. "I want to get to know you."

* * *

The night wore on and the group fell out of the bar, laughing amicably between themselves. Quinn had her arm looped through Santana's and the women led them all to a close by taxi rank.

"Hey Q," Santana bumps her hip with Quinn's and got the giggling woman to look at her. "How well do you know that Brittany girl?"

"Uh, not well really. She's more Mike's friend than mine." She scratches at her nose and scrunches her eyes up, the tequila making her face feel numb. "Why, do you want to know her?"

"No," Santana breathes out, shaking her head. "I just, I wanted to know if you're okay with a stranger living with you."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, she's totally harmless." Quinn replies; briefly looking back at Mike and Brittany who seem to be involved in a heavy walk/dance/laughing match.

"Mmm, yeah."

"Do you like her?" Quinn asks, coming to a stop at a crosswalk. "I saw you talking to her a lot tonight. More than Rachel and she is the one you're supposed to be getting to know. What, with her moving in and whatever."

"Brittany? Yeah, she's nice," Santana smiles. "And I would have talked to Rachel but she annoys me."

Quinn laughs as the group catches up with them.

"I'm sure we're all gonna get along fine, Lopez."

* * *

Santana felt shit.

What made it worse was she was at work whilst she felt like shit, listening to some executive bitch about how Pepsi have stated they want their product in Cooper Anderson's hand for now 1.25 seconds of the shot, rather than the agreed upon .45.

Santana loved her job, she did. Working in media law was an entertaining and exciting job, she met loads of rich, famous people who fawned over her and she got to make decisions that people had to listen to weather they liked it or not.

She didn't like her job, however, when it felt like a mini band were playing a warm up gig behind her eyes.

"Miss Lopez, can we work with the new arrangement?"

"I'd have to talk to the director of the film again and I should be able to have it rearranged," she trails off when her phone buzzes in her bag but attempts to remain professional. "Tell Pepsi I should have an answer for them by five o'clock."

"Are they not working outside of contract agreements?" Kurt asks from his seat next to Santana, his fingers quickly looking through the contract.

"Subject to change," Santana shrugs. "Artie never agreed to anything. As director he should have had all of this worked out. It's his own fault."

"Aren't you his lawyer?"

"I represent him," Santana corrects with a smile, gathering her things when her bosses seem to bore of them and start walking out themselves. "I advised him to look through everything and he signed the contract without a glance. He's gotten too big for his boots in my opinion."

"He's going to be annoyed," Kurt tries to tell her, rolling his eyes when she ignores him. "Not to mention I'll have to talk to Cooper about working around this."

"It's a few milliseconds."

"It's Cooper Anderson."

Santana laughs at her friend. Kurt had worked with her since she joined a few years ago. He was a PR, working with some of the biggest names in L.A.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out her phone, pinching her lips up at the side at the amount of messages and calls on there.

"Someone's popular," Kurt sings, pulling out his own Blackberry and tapping the keys.

"It's just Quinn."

"Does Mike know about you two?" he grins at her and she shakes her head in amusement. "Really, you two talk all the time and you're very close. I'd say Mr. Chang has a problem."

"Shut up," Santana snips.

_From: Quinn Fabray.  
There's been a cancellation. Doctors appointment is at 2 now. Can you still come with me?_

_To: Quinn Fabray.  
Sure. I'll take a late dinner break. _

"So, where do you want to go to eat? I have to look over this contract and I need you to double check it all for me." Kurt asks as they walk down the corridor.

"I can only make it quick. I need to get on to Artie and Pepsi before the day is out and I have something to do after two."

"Sure, let's make it coffee. I'll have Cooper patch you through to Artie while we work."

"Perfect," Santana agrees, swinging her briefcase a little. A nervous habit Kurt hadn't yet picked up on.

_From Quinn Fabray.  
Thank you, San! Please don't tell Mike about this. He can't know yet._

Santana pocketed her phone and shook her head, following Kurt into the sunny streets.


End file.
